Come What May
by purplestarz2006
Summary: Sequal to After the Show. As Satine's daughter gets older, she begins to wonder what really went on at the Moulin Rouge, and Satine and Christian are forced to confront a past they thought they'd left behind.
1. Default Chapter

Come What May 

A.N. First of all, thanks to everyone who reviewed "Falling". Also, thanks for being patient with me while I got this new story up and running. My life's been crazy for the past few weeks and I didn't have time to get this idea off the ground. Anyway, this is a sequel to "After the Show", so if you haven't read that yet some of this might be confusing. This story takes place 8 years after the end of "After the Show",

Satine and Cassandra looked around the dark, dusty attic. "Those winter clothes must be up here somewhereÉ" Satine said to herself. As she thought about where the missing articles of clothing might be, Cassandra decided to do some searching of her own. However, the methods of the twelve-year-old differed from her mother's. Cassandra simply began opening every box and trunk she came across. Had this been five or six years earlier, she would have opened up one box and been enthralled with what was inside. However, Cassandra noticed that, for some reason, the objects in the boxes and trunks didn't seem like such treasures anymore. She had seen them all before, and she now knew the real purpose of almost everything as opposed to her young imagination inventing some new use for an object. "I guess that's just part of growing up." Cassandra thought to herself. A bit saddened by this realization, she continued to walk around the attic looking for the winter clothes. As she reached a particularly dusty corner, she saw something out of the corner of her eye that caught her attention. Pushed against the far wall was a bright red trunk.

Cassandra was certain that she had never seen nor opened this trunk before. She did not recall ever exploring a red trunk. "How did I ever miss this one?" she thought to herself. As a young child red had been her favorite color (her mother's hair might have had something to do with that) and she was instantly attracted to anything with the slightest bit of red in it. Cassandra felt her childlike curiosity returning and knelt down to open the trunk. Inside, she discovered several articles of clothing, thought she doubted they were the ones her mother was on the other side of the attic looking for. The clothes were very bright, and decorated with everything that could possibly be used to decorate clothing. Well, not everything was that decorated. There was a very simple, but very beautiful, red dress on top of the pile.

"Mom, where did we get this stuff?" Cassandra called across the attic. Satine, still searching for the winter clothes, looked up to see where her daughter was.

"Honestly, Cassandra, you've seen everything up here already. You know where everything came fromÉ" Satine's voice trailed off as she saw the contents of the trunk her daughter was looking through. She knelt down next to Cassandra and fingered the red dress. "These are my old costumes from the Moulin Rouge, dear" she said, hoping that would be enough of an answer.

Luckily for her, Cassandra did not ask any more questions. She remembered the bedtime story she had heard again and again as a younger child; the story of her parent's meeting. Her mother had been a dancer, so she had been told, at the Moulin Rouge. Something inside her, though, was beginning to think that there might have been more to this story.

Later that night, after the winter clothes had been found and Cassandra thought her parents were fast asleep, she sat staring out her bedroom window. Something was eating at her. Her mother had been out of sorts the rest of that day, no doubt a result of seeing the clothes in the trunk. Why? The story that Cassandra had heard every night depicted her mother's life at the Moulin Rouge to be very happy, except for the mean man who tried to hurt her. But even on that one occasion, her father had taken her out of harm's way, hadn't he? Cassandra got up and walked over to her dresser. She reached up until she could grab the red windmill that had sat there since her birth. It was the one material clue that she had to her family's past. Sure, she knew that her father's family was wealthy and that he left them to become a writer and all of that. But she knew nothing of her mother's story. Why did she become a dancer? Why did that man try to hurt her? What really went on at the Moulin Rouge?

A.N. Well, how is it so far? I know there wasn't a lot of Christian/Satine stuff in this chapter, but don't worry. It's coming. Please review, and I'll try my hardest to get the next chapter up soon!


	2. Late Night Snooping

Come What May 

A.N. Thanks for the reviews! And once again, I forgot to put the disclaimer. So here it is:

Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge

Christian sat watching his wife pace up and down the room. Pacing was a hobby that Satine had taken quite a liking to in the past few years. He had to admit, raising an adolescent was quite trying, but he had never seen her this nervous or upset about anything.

"Satine, what's the problem here? So she found the trunk in the attic, it was going to happen someday. As long as she still doesn't know the truth about what you did there everything is still ok." Christian said in an unsuccessful attempt to calm her down.

"No, Christian, it's not ok. Sure, right now Cassandra doesn't know the whole story, but what about ten years from now? We are going to have to tell her eventually and her finding that trunk just reminded me of that." Satine replied.

"Well, we always knew that. We'll tell her when she's ready to hear it, which is not tonight. Now stop pacing and let's both get some rest. We have to start planning Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow and I need to be rested for our annual arguments." Christian hoped the humor would help to calm Satine down. It did, if only slightly.

As Satine got into bed, she sighed and said "I just wish we didn't have to tell her. I want that part of my life to be behind me. Seeing all of those things, they just brought back some really hard memories. I went through so many hard times there

Christian feigned a hurt expression and said "Well, one of those hard times is right here, you know. And he would like to get some sleep. I'm sure by tomorrow she'll have forgotten all about that box.

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Christian. I love you." As Satine reached to turn off the light, Christian kissed her forehead.

"I love you too, diamond" he said.

As Christian and Satine drifted off to sleep, Cassandra poked her head out of her bedroom door. After checking to see if the coast was clear, she hurried down the hallway to the attic door. She opened it very slowly, as it was known to squeak when opened too fast. Carrying a small lamp, she made her way up the dark stairs, regretting wearing only her nightgown as the drafts became more and more noticeable. One Cassandra reached the attic, she quickly made her way to the back corner and reopened her new treasure chest. She loved the feeing inside of her at that moment. It was as if a part of her diminishing childhood was returning. Careful not to unfold anything, she removed the red dress from the top of the trunk, followed by numerous other articles of clothing. Eventually, she found what she was looking for. On the bottom of the trunk she found a very old packet of paper, most likely a script judging by the layout of the text. There were also some scattered notes on random scraps of paper, all handwritten and a rolled up poster.

Cassandra took the papers and the poster to another area of the attic. She sat on a wooden box and balanced her lamp on the box just next to it and began reading the script. She guessed that she was starting at the middle of the story, because it didn't make much sense. She managed to pick up that there was a courtesan, a maharajah, and a magical sitar player along with a talking sitar. Of course, she had no idea what any of those things were. It seemed to her that while her youthful enthusiasm and excitement were fading fast, her childlike understanding of the world would never improve. As she looked closer at the script, she realized that she had indeed started at the beginning, as on the top of the page was the title, "Spectacular, Spectacular".

Next she moved on to the notes. "These must have been for the script", she thought to herself. The notes all referred to the sitar player and the courtesan, whoever they were. Some would ask whether the courtesan should meet the sitar player somewhere. Some of the notes also mentioned someone named Harold. Assuming that Harold was a character who came in later in the script, she unrolled the poster, She didn't have time to read the whole script. The poster must have been an advertisement for the play, as the poster had the play's title in large type at the top. Of course, the poster was in French, so Cassandra couldn't read the rest of the type. She did, however, manage to catch the names at the bottom of the poster. "La nouvelle piece a la Moulin Rouge. Jouer le r—le principal est Satine, aussi Harold Zidler, et beaucoup de plus." Even though Cassandra didn't read French, she picked up three words: Moulin Rouge, Satine, and Harold. She wasn't sure what made her so certain that the Harold mentioned on the poster was the same Harold mentioned in the note, but since she had no proof of the contrary she decided that it must be the same person. So Harold Zidler had been in this play with her mother.

A thought hit Cassandra. Maybe Harold was "the mean man". Maybe he was the one who tried to hurt her mother. But then why would she save the script and poster? Then another detail from the bedtime story entered her mind. The "mean man" had been a duke. Quickly, she picked up the poster again, scanning for the word "duke". On the bottom of the poster, in very small type, she found it. "L'assistance de finacial fournie par le Duke de Monorath.

"That's right, the duke gave money to the play." Having not heard the bedtime story for four years, Cassandra had forgotten some of these small details. Suddenly, she heard something moving downstairs. She decided that her snooping was done for the night and quickly returned her newfound treasures to their red trunk, except for one thing. She kept the script for herself. Maybe if she read the whole thing, she would finally have some answers.

A.N. First of all, a big thank-you to for the French translations. I took French until this year in school, but do you think I remember any of it? Please review, and I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can.


	3. Planning

Come What May 

A.N. Thanks for the reviews! Things have been crazy this past week, but hopefully they will calm down soon so these chapters won't take so long.

Chapter Three: Planning

When Cassandra woke up the next morning, the first thing she heard was her father in the kitchen, yelling, "Fine, Satine. Invite them! But I'm telling you, they are not going to come!

"Must be November." Cassandra said to herself. Every year her parents went through this argument about who to invite for Thanksgiving dinner. When she was little, the yelling had scared her so much that she grew to hate Thanksgiving. However, in the past few years she had changed her outlook on the whole situation. She now found her parents annual Thanksgiving planning arguments to be entertaining, rather than scary. She slipped her robe on and went to go stand at the top of the stairs to enjoy the show.

Cassandra smiled as she adjusted herself to get a better view. She had come right at the climax.

"Christian, I don't understand why you always get so upset at the prospect of me inviting your family to Thanksgiving!

"Because, Satine, I know that the will not show up and I don't see the point of wasting money on postage.

"How do you know they won't show up?

"Thanksgiving is an American holiday. My family members are all British. They are not going to travel all the way over here to celebrate a holiday that has nothing to do with their country. I should know. I lived with them for 21 years.

"You know, I never thought of that. Maybe you're right. We shouldn't invite them. But then who else are we going to invite? We can't just have it be you, me and Cassandra.

"And why not? I'd actually like to keep it small this year. We wouldn't have to spend the entire day cleaning the house, and we wouldn't have to be eating turkey leftovers for a month.

"I thought you liked turkey!

"I do. For one meal. But Satine, it seems that from Thanksgiving until Christmas, all we eat is turkey. Then on Christmas we get another turkey and we're eating that until the end of January. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing.

Satine sighed, and looked at the paper in her hand. "Well, the only other people I can think of to invite would be our little group of happy bohemians in Paris. We haven't seen them in such a long time.

"You know, you're right. They haven't been here since Cassandra was a year and a half old. But what about the whole international problem?

"Well, I'm sure that they will come anyway. Harold loves any holiday with a huge meal and the others will just follow him here.

Cassandra's ears perked up at the mentioning of Harold. Could this be the same Harold that she read about last night in the attic?

Her question was answered by Christian's next sentence. "Ok, we're inviting them. What exactly is the street address of the Moulin Rouge?


	4. Thanksgiving Dinner

Come What May 

A.N. Ok, I know it's been awhile. Writing two stories at once is a little overwhelming. I'll try to be more speedy from now on. Thanks for the reviews.

Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge

Three weeks after the invitation argument, Cassandra awoke to a loud crash in the kitchen, followed by her mother exclaiming "Stupid turkey!"

It was Thanksgiving.

Cassandra never understood why, on a holiday where people were supposed to be grateful, people complained more on Thanksgiving than any other day of the year. As she groggily began to get dressed, she remembered something. This was no ordinary Thanksgiving. Today, she would get to meet Harold, and possibly find out some more information on her mother's past. She would have to be sneaky, though. That was the one problem with Thanksgiving. It involved everyone sitting together in one room, so it wouldn't be easy to catch Harold at a moment when her parents weren't around.

On Thanksgiving Cassandra had the same job many other children have: stay out of the way. So she decided to wait in her room until the guests arrived. While she waited, she continued reading the script. She still had no idea what a courtesan, a maharajah, or a sitar player was. But she was able to understand the story with a few minor word substitutions. Wherever she saw courtesan, she substituted princess. Maharajah was replaced by evil king, and sitar player was replaced by prince. With those changes, the story resembled a fairy tale like the ones she had read when she was younger. Cassandra found herself enthralled with the story, until she heard the doorbell ring downstairs. This was it. It was showtime.

Cassandra slowly walked down the stairs, hiding her excitement under her "Innocent, shy child" routine. She stood at the base of the stairs while her mother opened the door, and was immediately embraced by several of the strangest looking people she had ever seen in her life. A tiny man, about two inches shorter than herself, was first. He latched himself onto Satine's legs and then onto Christian's. He seemed very happy, but Cassandra wondered if this was a natural state or if he had been enhancing his mood with a chemical of some kind. He spoke with a lisp, much like some of the children she had played with when she was small.

After the small man had made his way inside, a larger man came in. This one seemed rather boisterous. He called Satine "Sparrow" and was just as affectionate as the smaller man had been. No one had seemed to notice her yet, which Cassandra was glad for. She wanted to get a good look at these people before she joined in.

As more and more people entered, Cassandra sat down on the bottom step, as if she was watching a parade. Three more men entered, followed by an older woman. Her joy at not being noticed quickly faded. She cleared her throat loudly, causing her father to turn around.

"Oh, Cassandra. Come here, I have some people for you to meet. These are some of our friends from when we lived in Paris. This is Harold Zidler, Marie, Satie, the Doctor, and the unconscious Argentinean. And this is…"

"Please, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Henri Marie Raymond Toulouse Lautrec Monfa. You have gwown some since we wast saw you." The smaller man had maneuvered his way to the front of the group.

All of them seemed nice enough, but Cassandra was most excited at the introduction of the first guest. So this was Harold Zidler. Her suspicions of his involvement in the mystery play were confirmed when he said the Christian "So, it looks like our sitar player isn't so penniless anymore, now is he?"

Cassandra knew that she couldn't just come out and ask all of her questions. She had to do this very subtly. So she sat in the living room with her parents, and listened to stories about dancers and elephants and green fairies. She had no idea what her parents were talking about, but she smiled sweetly and nodded along as if she did.

Dinner itself went smoothly. Cassandra was assigned the job of explaining to the guests why Thanksgiving was celebrated. She wondered when telling the stories of the first Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, Fourth of July, or any holiday for that matter, would cease produce "Awwws" from everyone in the room. It didn't matter, though. She was on a mission, and if she had to play the cute little girl for a little while longer to succeed, she was willing to do it.

She learned one thing about Harold without even asking anything. Harold could eat a lot. Her mother had been right in saying that Harold loved any holiday with a huge meal. Through dinner, the topic of conversation shifted to the last ten or eleven years, and Cassandra was treated to every embarrassing story about her childhood that had ever existed, and even a few that didn't. "That's it. I have to break the cycle" she said to herself.

"So, Mr. Zidler, how did you meet my parents?"


	5. Answers

Come What May 

A.N. I know, another long wait. I'm deeply sorry. Thanks for the reviews and for your patience.

Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge.

After Cassandra spoke, everyone at the table looked up from their meal. Christian and Satine looked at each other with a panicked look on their faces.

"Well, my dear, I met you parents when they were living in Paris. Your mother, you see, was working for…"

Christian didn't like the way Harold's sentence was going, so he interrupted with "Harold, could Satine and I see you in the hall for a moment?"

Although he was not sure why, Harold followed Christian and Satine out into the hall.

"Christian, what is it?"

"Look, Harold, we don't…that is to say…we're not ready to…"

"We don't want Cassandra to know about the Moulin Rouge yet." Although Christian was the poet Satine seemed to have an easier time getting the words out.

While Harold, Christian, and Satine debated the topic in the hall, Cassandra continued eating with a satisfied smile on her face. Even though she had no information (well, other than that her mother had worked for someone) she had struck a nerve. She had gotten her parents nervous; they knew that she wanted to know and that the bedtime stories weren't going to be enough anymore.

When Harold sat down again, he quickly changed the subject to how good the turkey was. Cassandra's question had been dropped from the conversation, but it had not been dropped from the minds of everyone at the table.

After dinner was over, Cassandra retired to her bedroom (typical for an adolescent) while her parents visited with friends. She planned on coming down later on and possibly catching one of the guests alone. Suddenly, she heard a knock at her door.

Thinking it was her parents coming to reprimand her for asking the question at dinner, she said "Come in" and braced herself. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Toulouse walk in and sit down in a chair next to her bed.

"I think I can tewl you what you want to know" he said. "You want to know about the Moulin Rouge, don't you?"

"Well, I don't need to know the whole history of it. I just want to know what my mother did there, and what happened that made her want to come here. I mean, why would you leave Paris to come to a little suburb like this? I know she was sick, but…"

"Oh, so you do know about her consumption. Yes, we were all very worried about our sparkwing diamond."

"Sparkling what?"

Toulouse realized that Cassandra had never heard her mother called that name before. He leaned back in his chair and prepared to tell her a very long story.

"Sparkwing diamond. It was your mother's, well, it was wike her work name. Your mother was quite the cewebrity, you know. "

Cassandra nodded. "She was a dancer, right?"

"Oh, is that what they have been telling you? Well, she was a dancer of sorts; that is, she was a performer. But she did much more than dance. She was our head courtesan!"

There was that word again. "But what is a courtesan? I've seen that word before in…hey, maybe you can tell me what this is!" Cassandra grabbed the old script out of her desk and handed it to him.

"Oh, my…I didn't realize your mother kept this. Did she give this to you?"

Cassandra looked at the floor and said "Well, not exactly. I kind of snuck up into the attic and found it in a trunk." She was expecting to be scolded for this, and was surprised when Toulouse broke out in laughter.

"Oh, I should have known! You're just like your mother used to be, always sneaking around."

It was beginning to occur to Cassandra that Toulouse did not have a very good sense of what was and was not appropriate to say to children. Not that it bothered her. "So, what is it?" she asked. Maybe Toulouse would give her actual answers.

"Well, my dear, this is a script we used back in Paris. Your father wrote it, and your mother starred in it."

"Oh, this must be _the_ play." Cassandra thought to herself. She remembered from the bedtime stories that her parents met while putting on a play, one that her father wrote and her mother starred in.

Toulouse went on to tell her the entire plot of the play. This didn't hold much interest for her, because she had already read the script. "But that doesn't answer my question. How did my parents get from being there to living here?"

"My dear, this answers more questions than you might think."

"What do you mean?"

"Cassandra, this play is basically the story of your parent's first year together, except it's set in India."

"Who thought of that, anyway?" India seemed like such a strange place for a play to be set to her.

"Your father. _I _wanted it to be set in Switzerland."

Cassandra flipped to the last page of the script. She saw the words "Come what may, I will love you until my dying day."

She sat back in her chair and prepared to ask Toulouse a few more questions.

A.N. I know, I know. It's been too long. I'm sorry! Things have been getting nuts. My school musical has started rehearsals and I'm fast approaching my driver's test. Please review! I will try not to let the next chapter take so long.


	6. Toulouse Spills the Beans

Come What May 

A.N. Thanks for the reviews!

Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge

Cassandra and Toulouse talked for quite awhile longer. Cassandra was relieved to finally be getting the answers she had searched for, and that she was getting them without being sneaky or having to read French.

"So let me get this straight. Everything that happened in this play happened to my parents?" Cassandra asked.

Toulouse nodded. "More or less. There were a few details changed. After all, we had to keep the Duke…"

"The Duke?" Cassandra remembered hearing about a Duke before, in the stories.

"Oh, yes. He was a very evil man. Very evil. But he had money, and that's all that Harold seemed to care about at the time. He gave us all quite a scare at the performance of this play. Ran down the aisle with a gun, you know. But luckily Harold came to his senses and knocked him out."

"That's right." Cassandra thought to herself. "The Duke was a bad man."

"Is that why my parents came here? To get away from the Duke?" she asked.

"Well, that was one of the reasons. Your mother's health had something to do with it too. It was just time for them to move on. There were just too many bad memories in Paris."

"Isn't that where they met and fell in love? How are those things bad memories?"

"Oh, not those things of course. But Paris is also where your mother sold herself to men, and where she was…"

"Whoa, wait a minute. What did you say?"

Toulouse suddenly realized that perhaps he said too much. "Well, I mean, your mother….everyone has to survive somehow. This is how the girls at the Moulin Rouge survived."

Cassandra wasn't sure if she really wanted to know any more, but she kept asking anyway. "So…how long did she do…that?"

"Actually, she was just a little bit older than you when she started. Harold didn't normally like to start them so young, but we didn't want to leave her out on the streets."

"So…is that what a courtesan is? A girl who sells herself?"

"Yes, although courtesans receive much more than money. Your mother lived in the lap of luxury in Paris, you know."

"The lap of luxury." Cassandra thought to herself. She didn't want to hear any more about her mother's past. She didn't want to know. There was no excuse for what her mother had done. Sure, Toulouse had said that she did it to survive. But he had also said that she lived in the lap of luxury. There was a big difference between surviving and having luxury. There were most likely many more things that her mother could have been doing to survive, or even to do moderately well, that wouldn't have been so, well, wrong. But instead she had to have the lap of luxury.

"So she stopped doing that when she met my father?" Cassandra was eager to change the conversation to someone else.

"Oh, yes. Once she fell in love with him, she wanted no one else." Toulouse paused for a moment, sensing that he might have just caused some anger in Cassandra. "You know, I don't think she ever really wanted to do it in the first place. Harold was just the first one who found her, and she didn't exactly have other options waiting for her."

While his reasons were highly plausible, Cassandra saw them as mere excuses. Her mother had simply taken the easy way out, and Cassandra didn't see how she could look at her mother the same way again.

Toulouse sensed that he had caused enough damage, and left the room. After a few moments, Cassandra returned to her position at the top of the stairs. She looked down into the living room, and heard her parents laughing with the guests about the good times they had shared together back in Paris. Normally, she would have listened intently to these conversations, but tonight she tuned out the words and simply watched.

As far as she was concerned, everything they were saying was a lie.

A.N. Ok, so this chapter was slightly shorter, but at least it's up. Please review!


	7. Escape

Come What May 

A.N. Yes, I know it's been way too long. Thanks for the reviews.

Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge.

Cassandra sat at the top of the stairs for hours, until the guests had left for their hotel. Once she was sure everyone was gone, she slowly went downstairs, working out what to say to her parents.

"Whatever you do, don't cry" she thought to herself. She knew she had to keep her emotions in check. She could have a very strong temper at times and she didn't want to say anything too hurtful to her parents.

She found her parents in the kitchen, cleaning up after the dinner. She stood outside the kitchen door and listened in a bit. It was always helpful to know what was going on before entering a situation. Cassandra had to pick the perfect moment to let them know she was there.

"See, Christian? It was a good idea to invite them. I think the dinner went very well." Satine said as she washed off yet another dish.

"Yes, it went very well. Except…" Christian's voice trailed off.

"Except for what?"

"Except for Cassandra's question at dinner, the one about how you met Harold. He almost gave away a little too much information."

"Oh, Christian, you worry too much. I'm sure Cassandra still doesn't know anything about how I met Harold."

This was the moment. Cassandra opened the door and stood in the doorway, arms crossed with a serious expression on her face. "Guess again" she said.

Before Christian or Satine had a chance to respond, Cassandra had launched into the carefully prepared statement she had worked out on the stairs. "How could you have done something like that, Mom? All my life you've been telling me to respect myself and never let anyone even look at me in that way and tonight I find out that when you were 13 you were selling yourself?"

Christian and Satine exchanged looks of panic, and then Satine held up a hand to let Christian know she would handle this. She attempted to do son in the calmest, most rational way possible. "Look, Cassandra, I'm sorry. I'm not proud of what I did but I had no other choice. Harold was the only one offering me any sort of work at all and a girl has to eat somehow."

Cassandra didn't buy the excuse any more from her mother than she had from Toulouse. "You mean Harold was the _first_ one to offer you work and he offered you the best payment plan. You didn't have to live in the lap of luxury. You chose that. There were probably plenty of other things you could have done…"

"Cassandra, you weren't in Paris back then. There literally was no other way, especially for an orphan like I was."

"Oh, so the fact that you were an orphan makes it alright? Stop making excuses, Mom. And stop trying to hide everything from me too. Stop trying to turn everything into a fairytale bedtime story. Just stop!" Cassandra could feel her emotions getting the best of her, so she turned and ran upstairs to her room. She flung herself onto the bed and cried for awhile, and then got an idea.

On the other side of the room, in her closet, she saw the empty suitcase from her family's trip to England the previous summer. That was it. That was the answer. She would run away. No, she was not running away. Running away from home was too young for her. She was escaping. She got out a pad and pencil and left her parents a note:

Dear Mom and Dad 

_ I've decided that I need to get away for awhile to think about everything. I don't know where I'm going yet-I'll be getting on whatever train or boat my money can buy me a ticket for. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine._

She left the note in plain view on her desk, quickly packed the suitcase, and began to devise a plan on how to escape her room without her parents seeing her. As she was trying to figure out how far it was from her window to the ground, she heard her parents' voices in the hallway.

"Satine, calm down. She was going to find out eventually. I'm sure tomorrow everything will be alright."

"How can you say that? Everything is not going to be all right! She knows now, Christian. How can I even face her now? "

"Satine, she's just a child. She'll understand when she's older. She thinks that Paris back then is like America now. It's all she's known." He wrapped his arm around Satine's shoulder. "Your still her mother. She'll get over it soon enough. Don't worry about it."

Cassandra went back to her window, grabbing her suitcase on the way. That was the last straw. She hated when her parents tried to justify making her feel bad by saying that she was "just a child" and that she would "understand when she's older."

Cassandra threw her suitcase out the window, and then carefully slid out the window herself onto a well-placed tree. As she made her way down to the ground, she thought to herself "They don't think I understand what their life was like? Fine. I guess I'll just have to educate myself on the subject."

And with that, Cassandra began her journey to Paris.

A.N. Ok, once again, I know that these updates take way too long. Now that I sort of have a plot going things should be a little faster.


	8. Missing

Come What May 

A.N. Ok, before you all start throwing stuff at me for taking so long with this update, let me assure you that the next one will not take as long. How do I know? Because school is done. And that's 7 hours of my day that I'll have free now to keep up with stuff like this. Also, the other story I was working on is finished now.

Christian had just fallen asleep when Satine came running into the room and turned on the light.

"Christian, wake up! We have a situation. Cassandra is gone!"

"Gone? How could she be gone?" Christian asked groggily.

"I don't know, but she is. She's not anywhere in the house."

Christian got up and walked down the hall to Cassandra's room. Sure enough, it was empty. He noticed the note on her desk.

"Well, you're right We do have quite a situation here."

"Christian, what are we going to do?"

"Ok, calm down. It's only been about two hours since we last saw her. She couldn't have gotten far. I'll call the police and get them looking for her. Then we should probably go to the hotel to let the others know that she's missing. Maybe they've seen her."

Satine nodded. Christian came and put his arm around her and kissed her forehead. "I'm sure she's fine. I ran away from home several times at her age" he said before going to place the calls.

Satine couldn't move. She just sat down on Cassandra's bed and put her head in her hands. She couldn't believe this was happening.

Meanwhile, Cassandra ran as fast as she could through the streets of the town. It had occurred to her after jumping out the window that Paris was across the ocean; therefore she would have to buy a ship ticket to get there. She had been to the shipyard several times in her life, and she knew that no one under 18 was allowed to buy tickets. But that wasn't enough to stop her from getting to Paris. She had a plan.

She reached the shipyard, and checked the departure schedule. To her delight, there was a ship leaving for Paris in a little more than 45 minutes. That was perfect timing for her.

She located the ship and found the area where the luggage was. Thankfully, the ship attendants were busy trying to inform a wealthy-looking woman that her dog would have to be in a proper pet carrier and brought on with the luggage, an argument that Cassandra could see was going to take awhile. She lifted up one of the lighter bags on top of the pile, and burrowed into the tall pile of suitcases and bags. She knew that the pile would remain intact as it was lifted onto the boat and brought to the luggage compartment, so she figured she was pretty safe.

She felt the pile being lifted up and smiled to herself. She was on her way.

"Yes, officer. Yes, of course. Thank you." Christian hung up the phone, and turned around to see Satine standing in the doorway of the living room. "The police said they'd try their best, and that there is a very slim chance that she would actually be able to get out of the country by herself. They have laws in place now that forbid children from buying travel tickets. And Cassandra would never stow away."

"Well, Christian, we thought she'd never run away either. Shouldn't we be doing something?" Satine asked.

Christian shook his head. "Our job is to stay here and wait for information. Also, the officer said that in most cases of runaways, the child comes home after a few hours, after they've had a chance to think and work out whatever was bothering them. If she does come home, we need to be here."

Satine nodded. She understood, but something told her that what had been bothering Cassandra was not going to be solved by a few hours of thinking. She looked at Christian; he was so optimistic about this whole situation. Somehow, though, Satine doubted the optimism.

"Christian, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I should have talked to her about my past sooner."

Christian slowly took Satine in his arms. "No, no. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. Lots of kids run away from home. That boy down the street ran away last month; Cassandra harbored him in her room, remember? And we found him. Sooner or later someone is going to find her."

Satine nodded again, this time beginning to cry into Christian's shoulder. Christian gently rubbed her back.

"I promise, everything will be just fine."

A.N. Ok, now before you throw even _more_ stuff at me, let me explain to you why this took so much longer than I planned. See, the day school ended, the Sims 2 showed up at my door. If you have it, you know how addicting it can be. I also had terrible writer's block with this chapter.


	9. The Search Continues

Come What May

A.N. Thanks for the reviews, especially to the person who gave me some ideas. I defiantly will try to take those into consideration once Cassandra actually gets to Paris. Sorry about any delay, there was some major writer's block there for awhile when it came to this story.

Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge.

Cassandra hid in the pile of luggage for what felt like years, although in reality she was only there for about an hour and a half. Every so often, she would see the feet of the ship attendants, making sure that the fragile luggage wasn't moving about because of the waves. She knew that it was too dangerous to come out. Even if she wasn't caught by the luggage attendant, if she came out too early she would be stopped and either asked for her parents' location or for her ticket, of which she had neither.

So she waited. It wasn't really that bad. The luggage compartment was being kept at a reasonable temperature, most likely because of the little dog that the woman had been so reluctant to let go of at the shipyard. Eventually, she heard the luggage attendants come in for what must have been the fourth or fifth time. She couldn't make out all of their conversation, but what she did hear were the words "checked all the tickets" and "yes". "Finally, I can get out of here." Cassandra thought to herself. She held her breath while she waited for the attendants to leave, then waited about five extra minutes to ensure that they were nowhere near the door before slowly coming out of her hiding place, leaving her own suitcase in the pile. She was careful not to topple the pile of luggage; the attendants would notice of all of the suitcases and trunks were out of place. Slowly, she crept towards the door. She put her ear to it and listened for a moment. She heard voices, but none so clear that it posed a threat. She opened the door, and breathed a sigh of relief.

About twenty feet away, there was a large group of children congregated around what looked to be a game of some sort. This was perfect. She would mingle among the children for awhile, then hide out somewhere during the dinner hours. There was no way that the ticket collectors had memorized every face of every person on the ship, especially the children.

Cassandra made her way into the group, and approached a girl who appeared to be her age sitting by herself.

"Hi. What's going on?" she asked innocently.

The girl sighed. "Those two have been playing each other at checkers for about an hour now. I don't see why the others are so excited to watch people play a board game. I'm Maureen, by the way. What's your name?"

"Cassandra". Cassandra saw no harm in using her real first name. This girl posed no threat to her plan, and there was no reason that she could see for getting mixed up in an unnecessary lie.

"Hey, you want to come to the buffet with me? You know, before the crowds get there and we can't sit where we want?"

The offer of food was too good to pass up, even though it meant coming face to face with the ship staff she was trying to avoid. She followed Maureen in the direction of the buffet, and smiled to herself. Maureen seemed nice. Although she would never have expected it to happen in this situation, she may have made a friend.

Meanwhile, Satine and Christian were desperately continuing the hunt for their daughter. The police had not been able to turn up any information, as Cassandra had done a really good job of covering her tracks. She made sure not to speak with anyone as she was running away, therefore no one would be able to remember seeing her or talking to her.

As soon as morning broke, they went to the hotel where Harold and the others were staying. They informed them of what had happened, and Harold decided that it would be best if they all waited at Satine and Christian's house, as that's where the police would be calling if they got any information. For the past three hours, they had been sitting in the living room staring at the phone, not saying a word. Toulouse wanted more than anything to break the tension, but he kept his mouth shut. It was, after all, his fault that Cassandra learned of her mother's past, and therefore ran away. He wasn't sure if Christian and Satine knew that yet, but he didn't want to find out.

Three hours turned into four, then five, then six. Eventually, there was a knock at the door.

Christian got up to open it, as Satine was in a kind of daze. He opened the door to find a police officer.

"Hello, are you Christian James?" the officer asked.

"Yes…yes, I am." Christian was in a bit of a daze himself.

"I'm officer Smith with the police department. We need to ask you and your wife some questions to help us look for your daughter."

"Oh, yes. Of course. Come in." He led the Officer Smith to the living room, and introduced him to Satine as well as the various guests. Officer Smith began his questions.

"Ok, first of all, how was the time between when you last saw Cassandra and when you noticed she was missing?"

Christian and Satine looked at each other, and Christian replied "It couldn't have been more than two hours. She went into her room at about 9 and we noticed she was missing at about 11."

"Do you have any idea where she might have gone to? Were there any places that you wouldn't let her go, any people you wouldn't let her see? Older children tend to sneak out when their parents forbid them to leave the house for some reason."

"No…she was angry at us, but we weren't forbidding her to do anything." Satine said, her voice softer than usual.

"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly was she angry with you about?"

Satine looked at Christian, as if to say "You handle this one." And Christian instantly got the message.

"Well, you see, both of us did some things in our past that we're not exactly proud of. You know how it is when you're young. Anyway, we both agreed not to tell Cassandra about them until she was older, but somehow she found out. She was very angry that we kept our past a secret from her."

Satine was amazed at how Christian's gift with words could take even her past and make it sound like nothing. The officer had only one more question for them.

"So neither of you have any idea where she might have tried to go?"

Satine's daze suddenly broke. "Paris" she said. "She's trying to go to Paris."


	10. Goodbyes and Arrivals

Come What May

A.N. Hello, everyone! I have returned from the depths of summer laziness and am back with a new chapter! I could write a long note explaining everything I did all summer that prevented me from getting this out sooner, but that would just put off the actual writing. So, here we go. Chapter 10.

Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge.

"Paris? Satine, why would she be going to…"

"Look, Christian, it's very simple. During our argument one of the things we told her was that she didn't know what it was like there. She's probably trying to get over there so she can investigate."

Although the officer was a bit skeptical, Satine's suggestion was the only lead they had to go on. He explained that the only way to leave the country within the town was the shipyard, and that laws forbid the sale of tickets to children. "However, the clerks do not always obey the laws. Did she have access to any money?" he asked.

"Yes, she had some money saved up, but I don't think it would be enough to buy a ticket. Especially not for that distance." Christian said.

"The amount really doesn't matter. These clerks are desperate to make any extra money they can." The officer explained that given the time Cassandra left, it was very possible that she may have been sold a ticket. "The clerks usually do this late at night. They wait until about fifteen or so minutes before the ship is to depart. After that, the trip is closed off, and the clerk no longer has to turn in money for any of the tickets. If there are tickets left over, however, they sometimes sell them anyway, to make a little extra money for themselves. They'll sell them to anyone. A little four-year-old once bought two tickets, one for herself and one for her stuffed bear. She spent two dollars."

"So, you're saying that Cassandra may actually be on a boat on her way to Paris?" Satine knew that Cassandra was most likely trying to get to Paris, but had never thought of the possibility that she could actually get there.

The officer suggested that they all go down to the shipyard and ask the attendants if anyone had seen Cassandra. After hearing what the officer had just told them, Satine and Christian weren't sure about trusting anyone who worked at a shipyard. However, they agreed to go, if only because they had no other options.

Meanwhile, on the ship, Cassandra was having a wonderful time with Maureen. The two of them wandered the ship, avoiding the other children as well as most of the adults. Thankfully, the subject of the whereabouts of her family had never come up in their conversation, and Cassandra was always careful to make it seem like she had parents on the ship. She ate her meals with Maureen, but afterwards would always say that her parents wanted her back in their cabin, and retire to one of the unoccupied cabins. In the morning, she was careful to make the bed exactly as it had been made the night before before joining her new friend for breakfast.

The journey continued for several more days, while her parents grew more and more worried by the day back home. Cassandra thought of them occasionally, but never for more than a moment. If she did think of them, it was only to give her more motivation to finish this trip and prove them wrong about her level of understanding in the world.

One morning, a ship staff member entered the breakfast hall and announced that they would be docking in Paris in about two hours. Passengers were to gather their belongings from their cabins and prepare to exit the ship.

"So, where are you staying in Paris?" Maureen asked Cassandra as the two of them waited in the crowd of people to get off the ship.

This was the first question that Cassandra didn't have an answer to. "Um...I'm not sure exactly. Some hotel, I'm sure. My parents took care of all that stuff. Speaking of which, I should probably go find them." Cassandra took the first opportunity to escape the conversation, running into the crowd in search of parents who she knew were close to a thousand miles away.

Cassandra and Maureen didn't meet up again during the exiting process. Cassandra purposely stayed at least 20 feet away from her. As much as she hated avoiding her friend, she knew that Maureen would get suspicious if she saw Cassandra exit the ship and go into the city by herself. But, in fact, that is exactly what she did. Without so much as a map in hand, Cassandra carried her suitcase off the ship and out of the shipyard, where the streets of Paris greeted her for the first time.

She walked around awestruck for quite awhile, before remembering what she had come to find. She reached into her suitcase and pulled out a tiny windmill. "This place has to be around here somewhere."

A.N. Yes, yes, I know this chapter took forever. I'm trying to get into some kind of routine with this, but I've been kind of busy doing college-process stuff lately. Anyway, please review!


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